


November, 1993

by JJK



Series: Life, Interrupted [13]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (so does Combeferre), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pining!Enjolras, Smoking, Time Travel, Time Traveller's Wife au, lonely!enjolras, sorry - Freeform, yeah enjolras smokes when he's stressed, yeah this is a particularly happy chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of his cigarette glowed orange as he took a deep drag, fighting back the overwhelming sense of longing which was rising with a tidal surge within him; tugging at the seams of the barely held together hole in his chest where Grantaire and his wonky smile and mesmerising hands should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November, 1993

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my thanks to [Kim](http://combeferree.tumblr.com/) for helping organize my ideas and assuage my fears that everything I write is out of character :)

_November, 1993 (Enjolras is 18)_

Enjolras was fuming. Getting kicked out of the library? The punishment out-weighed the crime. All he’d done was get into a slight argument with the desk clerk over the unfair late fees which weren’t even his own, not that the first year in question had even thanked him for it. And now he found himself facing a deadline which had been progressively overlooked as he put more time into the student activist group, with no resources to help him. He was fuming. 

The last thing he needed was for Courfeyrac to show up drunk, with a girl in tow. Which, of course, is exactly what happened. 

The door banged open, colliding sharply with the wall – reminding Enjolras that they really needed to get the stop fixed. The crash sent the pair of them giggling into each other’s mouths as they resumed kissing and blindly crossed the room. They almost tripped over various obstacles but somehow managed to stay upright. 

“Courfeyrac.” Enjolras protested loudly, but neither of them seemed to notice him. “Courfeyrac!” he shouted, slamming the one text book he did have shut. He scowled at the pair who were by now tangled on top of each other on Courf’s bed, hastily trying to remove all vestiges of clothing. 

Still they didn’t notice. It was only when Enjolras thwacked Courf on the shoulder with the text book that his roommate glanced up at him. 

“Oh shit.” He swore. “Sorry, dude, didn’t see you there.” He rolled off the girl slightly, who continued to wrestle with the tight shoulders of his shirt. “Thought you were at the library,” he gently pushed the girl’s hands off his shoulders and sat upright. 

“Obviously I’m not.” 

Courf grinned, “No.” He turned to the girl, “hey, Emily? Let’s go somewhere else, yeah? I hear Freddie’s away this weekend and left his room unlocked.” He wiggled his eyebrows slightly. Emily giggled and pushed him off the bed, already racing for the door. 

“Sorry!” Courf threw over his shoulder as the door slammed closed behind him. 

Enjolras slumped back into his chair. He let the top of the book fall open and stared at the page for a few moments before dropping his head into his hands and angrily running his fingers through his hair. He was in no mood to write. The essay was ridiculous, he disagreed with the topic entirely and trying to keep the venom out of his argument just enough so that his professor didn’t give him a zero (again) wasn’t helping. Neither was the lack of resources. He had all of tomorrow….and he’d be allowed in the library again when someone else was on shift… 

Slamming the book shut once more he grabbed his jacket off the back of the door and shrugged it on. Flicking up the collar, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to check he had some cigarettes left. Sure that he did, he made his way down the corridor – rolling his eyes at the lewd noises coming from Freddie’s room – towards the fire escape at the end. 

It was a strictly ‘no-go’ area, but it never locked and really what did the college expect? He scampered up the metal rungs and vaulted over the low wall onto the expanse of felt lined roof. It was already well dark; the only lights came from the illuminated dome of the library, street lamps which lined the criss-crossing footpaths and small rectangles of yellow from dormitory windows, glinting delicately in the gloom. 

There were a couple of chairs up here, from various past residents who had dared to carry them up the fire escape. Enjolras pulled one towards him and sat down, propping his feet up on the wall and lighting a cigarette. The smoke burned his lungs, filling his sinuses with the familiar, suffocating, musty stench. He didn’t particularly enjoy smoking, but it was something to focus on when he was stressed and the familiarity of the motions helped calm him down. Plus it felt a little rebellious. How many times had Grantaire impressed upon him that smoking was no good? What was it he had said; you’ll never outrun a Doberman with smoke wrecked lungs. Enjolras had assumed it was a common saying until he told it to Dita and she assured him it wasn’t. He still didn’t really understand what Grantaire had meant. 

Well, if smoking was so terrible, Grantaire would have to come and stop him. 

He glanced around with an almost foolish hope that he’d see Grantaire skidding into the present, arms flung before him to stop him from crashing into anything. He tried to imagine what Grantaire would say or do. Would he march over and pull the cigarette from Enjolras’ lips? Would he stay back, looking disappointed? Probably neither. He’d settle back in a chair beside Enjolras and start talking about which constellations could be seen, distracting Enjolras from the cigarette, and when it had burnt out, pluck the end from him and begin an eloquent, albeit nonsensical, rant about how they were a metaphor for the human existence and the darker side of human nature. Enjolras could almost hear him. 

Christ he missed him. 

The end of his cigarette glowed orange as he took a deep drag, fighting back the overwhelming sense of longing which was rising with a tidal surge within him; tugging at the seams of the barely held together hole in his chest where Grantaire and his wonky smile and mesmerising hands should be. 

He threw his cigarette away angrily and stood up, feeling like screaming. How was it possible to miss a person this much? It had been five months since they last met in the meadow. Which wasn’t the longest stretch he’d gone without seeing him, but it was close. And unlike the other times there was no definite date to look forward to. Suddenly he wished he’d brought the little red book with him. Sometimes flicking through the pages, tracing his fingers across the crossed out dates, pouring through the folded drawings, feeling the tangible evidence that Grantaire was real was enough to ease the hopeless longing. Sometimes it only made it worse. 

_“Tell me!”_

_“You know I can’t,”_

_“Forget fucking_ spoilers, _Grantaire – when will I see you again?”_

_“I’m sorry – ”_

He had looked genuinely sorry as he disappeared into nothingness, leaving Enjolras clutching an empty shirt. 

Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to recall Grantaire’s face, but he couldn’t. He was forgetting. The mixtures of faces didn’t help solidify the image in his mind. His hair had been both long tumbling waves and shorter curls. Once it had been close cropped. Sometimes greying, others black as ink. He had stubble, a beard, rarely clean shaven but it was known to happen. He’d been erratic, and often annoying, but he’d been there. 

Hadn’t he? 

Enjolras froze for a second, feeling a harrowing sense of loneliness. The expanse of roof seemed to expand in all directions, leaving him a tiny figure in a landscape void of anything. His breath faltered for a beat before he screwed his eyes closed and chastised himself for feeling that way. Now was hardly the time to open up that door of anxiety. He knew Grantaire was real, despite what those brats in middle school tried to make him think; though they’d made sure he never risked telling anyone ever again, just in case they thought he’d lost his mind. It certainly sounded ridiculous from an objective point of view. 

“Enjolras,” 

He span on his heel, startled to see Combeferre climbing over the low wall to the roof. (He hadn’t thought it might be Grantaire. He wasn’t disappointed. He could never be disappointed to see Combeferre). 

“I thought I might find you up here.” Combeferre was bundled in a navy blue overcoat which was slightly too large for him. He pulled it round himself, holding it in place with his arms folded his over chest. “It’s cold,” he said after a while, when it became clear Enjolras had no intentions of talking. Enjolras was so grateful that he didn’t ask what was wrong. Because how on earth could he explain? Enjolras was never speechless, but he just didn’t have the words to describe Grantaire. 

He nodded. Combeferre smiled slightly and glanced around the roof. He must have spotted the cigarette end because his next question was if Enjolras had any spare. He twirled a ratty desk chair round and placed it beside the one Enjolras’ had commandeered, taking a seat as he lit up. 

For a while he smoked in silence, until Enjolras settled next to him, waiting to see what would happen next. Combeferre intrigued him. Ever since Enjolras gone to speak to his philosophy professor (one of the few professors Enjolras’ didn’t seem to clash with) and found him animatedly conversing with a student Enjolras had never seen before. 

Never one for adhering strictly to social protocol, Enjolras couldn’t help but interrupt their conversation with an opposing view point. It had earned him a raised eyebrow and glare from his professor and a fascinated smile from Combeferre. Enjolras later found out that he’d never seen him before because he was a second year pre-med student and not actually studying philosophy at all. When Enjolras ran into him on campus later that week Combeferre had smiled, greeted him with a wry “hello again,” and proceeded to continue the discussion from the office hour, falling into step beside Enjolras. 

Enjolras still wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened but they’d become fast friends, co-founders of the small activist group, and grown closer than anyone Enjolras had been to anyone in high school. Closer even than he’d been with Grantaire – in some respects. 

“I can either distract you,” Combeferre said, scratching at his chin with his thumb, his cigarette poised before his lips, “Or you can tell me about it.” He inhaled gently as he waited for Enjolras to reply. 

Enjolras considered for a moment, dragging his gaze across the skyline. In the distance faint light from Downtown could be seen speckled around the darkened rises and falls of the surrounding hills. His breath clouded before him, clouds of icy mist mirroring the smoke of Combeferre’s breath. It was peaceful up here, calm. He could see why Grantaire used to spend his youth sitting on rooftops; of course it had been Grantaire to plant the idea in his head. It had been Grantaire to help him clamber up one of the trees that bounded the meadow, providing more than a leg up as he pretty much pushed him onto a branch and called out instructions for where to grab next. 

_“What’s the view like?”_

_“I can see my house!”_

Grantaire who told him about climbing out of his window as a teenager and sitting on the roof to sketch or read. He’d drawn Enjolras the view from memory. It was folded between the pages of the red journal. Enjolras’ fingers itched to hold it. 

“Why does it hurt so much to miss people?” he asked quietly, voice hiding in cold fog of his breath. 

“Well,” Combeferre exhaled, examining the end of his cigarette as he thought of an answer. “We’re social creatures, creatures of habit. From an early age we depend on other people and that feeling of dependency, longing, a need for social interaction stays with us I guess... It has been hypothesised that the feeling of loneliness, of missing people, is a self defence mechanism which can be traced back to our hunter gatherer days when it was harder, dangerous even, to live a solitary life.” He paused for another pull on his cigarette. “As for why it hurts, the sensation is produced by the same part of the brain responsible for feeling physical pain. Heartbreak is a real thing,” he smiled around his cigarette, “but don’t tell Courfeyrac, we’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Enjolras dropped his head to his chest and smiled. Only Combeferre would be able to give a scientific answer. 

“It just aches,” he said eventually, lifting his head and turning to Combeferre, for help? Comfort? He didn’t know. But the soft smile, accompanied by a hand reaching for his own was definitely what he needed. 

He stared for a while, searching his friend’s face. Comebferre let him; holding his expression of calm as Enjolras scoured it. He couldn’t help but blink behind his glasses, though, his eyebrows sloping slightly in bemusement. Enjolras didn’t really know what he was looking for, he already knew he trusted Combeferre with his life…but could he trust him with Grantaire?

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Thank you to everyone who is reading this! I'm having so much fun writing it, so thanks for letting me :)  
> 2\. I've made a [Timeline](http://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/219305/Life-Interrupted), to help keep track of when everything happens (I know I'm slightly losing track so I thought it might be helpful!)  
> 3\. [Kim](http://combeferree.tumblr.com/) has written a wonderful side drabble exploring Enjolras's childhood, which you can find [here](http://courageandcheer.tumblr.com/post/71971250619/note-a-drabble-based-on-life-interrupted-i-just)  
> 4\. Stop by my [Tumblr](http://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/) to discuss headcanons, ask for clarifications, generally cry about fictional revolutionaries.  
> 5\. Sorry if this chapter does seem a little out of character, but I think that might stem from a rather out of character situation - reconciling time travel and possibly imaginary childhood friends is tough to write.


End file.
